


Flesh and Blood

by methylviolet10b



Series: Dinner Plans [8]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: A very different take on the Great Hiatus, Alternate Universe, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Holmes returns at last. Written for October Spooktacular prompt #4 over on Watson's Woes.
Series: Dinner Plans [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/772983
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Flesh and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: A continuation (and yet another jump ahead) of the odd little AU started in Dinner Plans, and continued haphazardly from there. This won't make much sense unless you've read the previous bits of the series. Written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> Prompt: "The devil’s agents may be of ﬂesh and blood, may they not?"

Try as I might, my eyes kept returning to the sight of my friend sitting in his chair by the fireside at 221B Baker Street. For his part, he appeared totally absorbed in the manuscript I had placed in his hands but ten minutes before, right until he glanced up at me, an understanding look in his eye.

“It is very good to see you, Watson. And to be seen by you.”

Of course he understood. “Likewise, Holmes.”

My friend smiled and returned his attention to the pages he held, allowing me to look my fill. He had changed since I had seen him last. He was thinner, with new lines at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes, though no silver sullied his hair. His skin was much paler, almost deathly white.

Almost as if he had not seen the sun in three years, which was unbelievable, and also the truth.

In my mind’s eye I could recall the scene from yesterday morning. Holmes stumbled into the early morning light and stopped stone still. For a dreadful moment I feared something had gone wrong, and we had not managed to win him free after all. Then he tilted his face upwards so the sunlight fell full on his face, eyes closed and a look of near-reverent bliss on his features, and I understood. A prisoner might look just so at the first breath of free air outside of his jail.

Mycroft stepped forward and laid one massive hand gently on his brother’s shoulder. “You completed what was asked of you.”

“Yes,” Holmes said, eyes still closed. “Yet they tried to keep me anyway. If you had not heard me, and opened the way…”

“Not I alone.” Mycroft glanced in my direction. His true visage was vastly more horrifying than his brother’s, but his eyes were similar, and faintly aglow with his approval. “I could not have succeeded without your assistance from your side, and without Doctor Watson’s assistance on mine.”

Holmes’ eyes sprang open at that, and when he saw me, his smile blazed brighter than the sunrise.

The sound of Holmes closing the bound covers of the manuscript recalled my attention to the present. “So I am dead at the hands of this Professor Moriarty, who sounds more like an agent of the devil than a mortal criminal.”

“The devil’s agents may be of ﬂesh and blood, may they not?” I replied. “Besides which, you’ll be careful to note that while I believe you dead along with the vile Professor, fallen together into the depths of the waterfall, I never actually saw your body or recovered your remains.”

“Ah.” Holmes nodded, his eyes twinkling. “So that is how you propose to bring me back. I take it I never died?”

“You spent three long years working in secret, unravelling the web of evil until it was finally destroyed for good and you could return to your life in London.”

Much to my surprise, Holmes flinched slightly. “That is… almost too close to the truth,” he said at last. “And yet wildly inaccurate in the actual details.”

“The best lies have some truth in them,” I said simply.

“As do the best stories.” Holmes nodded and resumed his usual self-controlled air. “You certainly do not do yourself justice in these tales, any more than you paint an accurate portrait of me. But they read well enough, and people believe them, which is the important thing. So do you have a sequel prepared to cover my return?”

“Outlined. I thought we might work on the draft together.”

Once again Holmes’ smile flashed brightly. “My dear Watson, I would be honored.”


End file.
